Where We Land
by fitchfitchfitch
Summary: A collection of fluffy Naomily one-shots.


**Disclaimer: I don't own Skins.**

* * *

Naomi Campbell was fairly sure Emily Fitch loved food more than her. No - scrap that - she was _certain_. She'd accepted early on in their relationship that she'd never _really_ be Ems' first priority; not if there was a pizza in the fridge to be eaten or leftovers from last night's take away to be finished. Oh no, sex would just _have _to wait. She'd scowl or roll her eyes (usually both), but of course she didn't actually mind. Who the hell would, when Emily Fitch was their girlfriend. Was _theirs_.

Naomi was sat in the kitchen, watching Emily half in awe and half in shock. It was one of those mornings that'd become so ritualistic - yet so bloody perfect - that left the blonde wondering how an earth Emily managed to be so... c_ute. _And not only that, but when exactly did _she_ - Naomi Campbell, Queen Of All Things Cynical - become so sappy? So hopelessly in love. Jesus, she made herself sick.

For a girl whose dad was the owner of a gym - 'don't get fit, get FITCH' people! - you'd think Emily would be a little more conscious of what she ate, but apparently not. She was doing a very good job of proving this as she polished off her fifth pancake. Naomi was content in finishing off the last of the Garibaldis for breakfast. (She didn't like the words 'finishing' and 'Garibaldis' being used in the same sentence though. If she could have it her way, there'd be an infinite supply of them in the cupboard. Clearly, she didn't wear the boots in this relationship).

"This," said Emily in between mouthfuls of food, "is possibly the best breakfast I've ever had."

Naomi didn't get it. Emily was so small. Where did all that food even go?

"And," continued Emily, pouring on more maple syrup, "I am going to thank you properly for this _upstairs_."

Would she ever tire of her girlfriend's not-so-subtle innuendos? She doubted it very much.

Naomi carefully oppressed her triumphant smile. She was proved right every time, after all. Cooking food meant a happy Emily, and a happy Emily meant sex, and sex meant a happy Naomi and well, you catch the drift, don't you? It was a very simple calculation that Naomi'd worked out a while ago, that went something like this: 'cook your girlfriend food and she will fuck you.'

Naomi raised an eyebrow. "Upstairs, huh?"

"Yep," Emily replied, giving her a very pancake-y grin.

"You better hurry up and finish your pancakes then, Ems."

Emily nodded, and then motioned to her food. "I can have seconds first, right?"

"If you mean _sixths_, then yes," she replied, shaking her head with a smirk on her lips. "But, ah, semantics."

"It's not my fault they're so delicious," argued Emily. "If I'd known you made pancakes this good, I'd have been a little more persistent at 14."

Naomi shook her head in feigned annoyance and then got up and put the remainder of the batter into the frying pan. It hit the butter with a sizzle.

"And if I'd known then that food is the way to your heart..."

"You'd have stopped being a sarcastic bitch, determined to push me away at every chance you got?" finished Emily, who was now making her way over to the cooker where Naomi stood. She quirked an eyebrow and then snaked her hands around Naomi's neck.

"Psh, no," the blonde mumbled against her girlfriend's lips. "I was way too stubborn."

"_Was?" _Emily pulled back disbelievingly. "Naoms, I don't know anyone _less_ stubborn than you and that's saying something. I'm related to Katie Fitch."

"Urgh, can you not." Naomi shivered and then turned her attention to the pancakes. "I don't want an image of Katie in my head while I'm kissing you."

Emily ignored her, obviously far too used to the quips between Naomi and Katie. "So tell me, Naomi, when exactly _did _you learn to cook?"

And... busted.

See, there was one twincy wincy problem with Naomi's little calculation: She couldn't cook for shit.

She looked up to the sky - well, the ceiling was doing a good job of blocking the sky, but it was close enough - and said a little prayer to Sainbury's for their ready prepared pancake mixes. Was she allowed to even do that? She wasn't at all religious, nor was Sainsbury's... dead. And, if for some reason it was - you know, _dead _- what would it be doing up in the sky?

Frankly, she didn't know what the fuck she was doing, but she had to thank _someone_ because right now her girlfriend was standing behind her, running her warm hands down Naomi's stomach. (And well, technically Jenna and Rob Fitch were to thank, but it didn't seem very appropriate.)

_Hello, Jenna. It's me, Naomi Campbell! No, no, not the supermodel. Yep, the girl that your daughter has been infatuated with since the age of 14. Why am I ringing? Oh, well I think Emily and I are about to have hot lesbian sex (I lure her into it by feeding her you see) and well, I'd like to thank you and your husband for combining your DNA. It was done rather beautifully.  
_

"Well, my plan from the very start has been to feed you up, so I've been practicing. I was thinking maybe we could both quit our jobs. Enter you into some professional eating competitions, you know?" Naomi replied, quick to abandon her counterfeit, factory-made pancakes to face Emily. (Fuck, they were sticking to the pan anyway). Ridiculously beautiful Emily with her ridiculously adorable ruffled bed hair.

"Mhm," replied the her girlfriend, pressing a kiss to her neck. "Sounds good."

"It does, doesn't it?" Naomi agreed in a whisper, eyes flitting shut as Emily continued to press hot kisses against her skin.

The blonde ran her fingers down her girlfriend's torso and then let them rest on her hip bones. She loved the way Emily shivered under her touch.

"Naoms...?" Emily breathed against her lips.

"Mmm?"

"Pancakes are burning."

"_Idontcare_," she mumbled, pulling Emily back for another kiss.

"Naomi!"

With a huff, Naomi turned on her heel to face the cooker. To be fair, the pancakes in question were posing a possible fire risk. It wasn't like they were living with Gina anymore either, back then they just blamed Kieran for everything.

Like that time they'd broke the leg of the table in the kitchen while they were, er, 'tidying up.' They'd managed to convince Kieran that he'd done it.

And that time they'd set part of the curtain on fire whilst cooking Mexican food. Yep, Kieran's fault.

Oh, and that time -

"What's funny?" Emily asked, curious.

"Nothing, Em." Naomi wrapped her arms around the redhead's waist and pressed her lips to her collar bone. "I just love you, is all."

"I know," smiled Emily, giving her a content smile. It abruptly turned into a scowl. "Now clean up that _fucking_ mess."

Naomi sighed. It was times like these that she was reminded that Emily's twin was Katie Fucking Fitch.


End file.
